Hex, Lies and Spellotape
by Ariqa
Summary: My name is Hexandra Storm and I am the daughter of a Death Eater. I do not know the identity of my father but when I find him, I am going to kill him… GWOC BZOC
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: All hail J.K. Rowlings, sole mother deity and empress of the Harry Potter universe. Here is my sacrificial story upon her literary altar.**

**Prologue:**

A pale sun crested with silvery light across the shimmering expanse of ocean horizon. The night surrendered her lavender veil for a crown of gold, coral and amber skies as morning ascended his throne amidst a court of clouds and heralding gulls.

Mesmerized by the Venus emerging from the foaming surf, he could scarcely breathe. He wanted it to be her – needed it to be her. _Could it be? __Had she followed him here to this isolated fishing village to admit her mistake and ask for his forgiveness? _After years of foolish longing and tortured obsession he could count every gesture that had cannibalized his soul. Words that were left unspoken, innocent touches, the liquid sorrow shed over some other man they numbered in the thousands. Always would he love her. Forever would he hate the one she chose... They were the sun and the moon, the shadowiness that stalks the light, neither existing in the precise instance of the universe without one eclipsing the other.

_Oh please, spare me this Heathcliffian angst. _The cold logical part of his brain dissected his fantasies cruelly. _As if she could ever feel anything for someone like you... _The icy fortress around his heart crystallized.

With disappointed relief, he realized that the goddess was not the one. Nevertheless the stranger was fascinating. Her lithe figure clad in a scandalously white bikini as she walked along the sandy shore, water glistening diamond droplets upon sun-kissed skin. A storm of titan torched tresses rained heavily to her waist, swaying to a coltish gait. The ivory shawl wrapped around slender hips offered tantalizing glimpses of flesh through the crocheted pattern. _Stop drooling you lecherous bastard. _His heart hammered deafeningly amidst the breeze and whispering waves as the glorious vision sauntered closer to… his fishing pier.

Focussing his intensity on the bait and hook he managed to slice open a finger. _Idiot__._ Stifling back a curse he was uncertain if he should turn around and continue his perusal. _Coward. _ He chastised himself for this schoolboy nervousness. _Introduce yourself. A dalliance in the sand might do you some good. To lose yourself if only for a few hours maybe you could forget about her… about everything._ His reverie of indecisiveness and doubt was interrupted by an abrupt crash and the over excited barking of a dog chasing a cat towards his garden.

"KOBI! Come back here!"

But Kobi was too quick, the German Shepherd knocked over a wheelbarrow and several potted bushes in a quest to catch a yowling Persian. In careless desperation, the woman attempted to snatch his collar but missed. Tripping over a garden hose, she landed in a flower bed – a newly manured flower bed. _Ugh how disgusting. _The muck squelched and clung to her skin.

"Laugh it up dog, I can still trade you in for a goldfish." She untangled herself from the hose grumbling,

Kobi having triumphantly frightened the offending feline up a tree, stopped by his mistress and gave her an unrepentant lick, his muzzle lit up with canine laughter. Someone was staring at her. Mortified, she glanced up, her emerald gaze colliding into brilliant obsidian. Voracious eyes capable of swallowing every minute detail.

It was him, the mysterious tourist whose boat repairs keep him beached last week. _Also known as the shirtless guy you ogled while he was chopping firewood. _Blushing, she remembered the rippling play of sinew across his back which was tattooed by fine black Phoenician script. Up close, he seemed more imposing, his tall frame immaculately garbed in loose grey breeches and a tight black tank top that revealed several old burn scars and leanly corded muscles. His hawkish features while not handsome were fierce and striking. Sinister yet sexy.

Wordlessly they studied each other for a seeming eternity (which actually turned out to be only two and a half minutes) before he offered her a hand. As she rose she felt the acute throbbing of her ankle. Wincing, she stumbled into his arms and the tanned hardness of his chest.

"Oh shii… I'm so sorry about this mess. My ankle seems to be sprained." It was not humiliation that caused her blush but the heat radiating from him.

Other than the fact that she was covered in petals and … fertilizer, it was a memorable introduction. _This was no way to make first impressions._ Wrinkling her nose, she caught a whiff of her own _eau du toilette_. _So much for being an icon of sophistication and feminine mystique. _Before she could protest, he chivalrously lifted her into his arms. A part of her wanted to giggle from the absurdity of the situation: a damsel in distress rescued by the dark (_check) _ brooding (check) stranger. It was like a clichéd scene taken from some lurid bodice ripping romance novel.

"Perhaps the next time you wish to _tend _the garden I can loan you the use of a trowel instead." He quipped sardonically and hesitated before wiping a trace of mud from her cheek. Her skin begged to be touched; it was flawless, creamy and silken.

"Would you care to freshen up Ms…?" _That's it, be bold. Faint hearts never won fair ladies. _Her proximity was… arousing.

"Ani Jamieson. That would be appreciated Mr…" Ani shivered from the slow British drawl of his gravel honeyed voice.

Every syllable was deliberate and immaculate. Even the way he pronounced her name: _Aw-nee_ instead of _An-nee_ sent electric shocks jolting through her system.

"Alexander. Stephen Alexander. Normally I would kiss your hand upon acquaintance before taking such liberties. However circumstances being what they are." Stephen looked pointedly at her filth covered body.

"I will respectfully await a latter opportunity to proclaim my undying devotion."

Sensual lips twisted into an amused smirk, contrasting the serious formality of his tone. _Suave double O seven. _His sense of humor was rusty from disuse. He opened the door to his cottage and together they entered the threshold into the waiting darkness.

* * *

Wrapping his bathrobe around herself, she inhaled the faint scent of aftershave and peppermint from the soft terrycloth. _Ummmm. _Ani swept her hair back in an elegant yet simple knot leaving a few tendrils to wisp deliciously along the delicate contours of her face. She checked the mirror for any more embarrassing signs of grime on her face. _How silly. I'm primping myself as if I were preparing for a date. Vanity thy name is woman or more specifically Ani Jamieson._ Tentatively she stepped outside the bathroom and was startled by the sudden opening of the double oak doors at the end of the hall.

Stephen stood before her and with a courtly bow ushered her in. The parlor was spartanly furnished with a suede couch, two worn leather armchairs and an antique writing desk with multiple compartments and drawers. Sunlight dimly filtered in through the lace curtains casting the room in somber shadows. Drying herbs hung over a rustic stone fireplace where no pictures or knickknacks cluttered the mantle shelf. The walls were lined with four large oak shelves bursting with numerous volumes. Although the room was cramped and utilitarian, it was spotlessly clean smelling of sandalwood and old books.

Afternoon tea was set out on a battered iron trunk that doubled as a coffee table. Blue porcelain dishes were meticulously laid out amongst a platter of cheese and fresh fruit. Chocolate mousse and dainty crumpets accompanied by plum preserves and butter were temptingly spread out before her. Ani sunk into the plush couch, unaware that the misbehaving robe slowly inched higher …

Stephen gulped but tried not to stare for he knew that the rest of her skimpy excuse for a bathing suit was hanging from the clothes line outside. Averting his eyes was not the problem, it was leashing of his imagination that caused him to perspire. _To think of what was or more notably what was not beneath the robe_ _would bring about his undoing._

"I shall attend your ankle." He congratulated himself on concealing the strangled quality of his statement.

Tenderly he removed the gold filigree anklet that graced her swelling limb and felt for broken bones. _The tiny mole on her ankle looks kissable as well as every inch of tall shapely legs._ Biting his lip, he was thankful that she could not discern his arduous intentions. She hissed softly as he rubbed eucalyptus balm onto the area; his long graceful fingers massaged her ankle with expert and languid circular motions. Afterwards he gave her a cloth filled with ice to press against the swelling, its numbing coldness simultaneously soothing and painful.

So I take it you are not from around here." Mentally he kicked himself for bleating out such a trite line. _How original you prat. _"Your accent… is it American?"

"Actually I am Canadian, I moved here from Montreal last month and intend to stay until my book is finished." She explained frostily..

Her eyes deadened and would not meet his gaze which darkened with onyx inscrutability. He could detect the briefest hint of pain in her expression and chose not to pursue his line of questioning about her former home. Here was the look of a person who had lost something or someone important. Wisely he changed the subject.

* * *

Tea turned into supper and supper turned into dessert. They spoke passionately of books, politics and their work for hours oblivious to the azure skies deepening into twilight. Personal histories were taboo. Both deftly evaded answering questions about family and their pasts.

_Stop staring at his mouth. _There was a smudge of chocolate on the side of his lips. _Did she dare?_ She brushed off the gooey sweetness with her finger and put it to her mouth.

"Delicious." She winked cheekily.

Silently Stephen congratulated himself for not spilling his drink onto his lap. _The minx. _Setting the snifter down, he picked up a spoonful of pudding.

"Hungry?" The insinuation was so caressing and suggestive that even a nun would know he was not speaking of food.

"Extremely."

"Close your eyes." Which she did, anticipating the spoonful of sumptuous mousse melting upon her tongue. After a few disappointed moments, she opened her eyes to see Stephen tauntingly savoring his dish of mousse.

"Tease."

"Likewise." He raised his dish in mock salute.

The hallway clock struck midnight. "I should be leaving Would you mind if I leave my pumpkin parked here tonight?" Her thoughts swam in the drowsy contentment of brandy.

"Yes of course." He rose reluctantly and lifted her into his arms not setting her down until they reached his car. It was not necessary that he carry her, but she did not protest this courtesy.

"Kobi come here." Ani beckoned her sleepy dog to enter the back seat. Kobi stubbornly remained sprawled out on the comfortable lawn his paws in the air. _Insolent cur._

"Inside dog." Stephen looked at Kobi with a commanding air and gestured towards the car. To Ani's surprise, Kobi obediently padded into the backseat with a respectful woof as if to say "Yes Sir". _Who knew that chemistry teachers could be so forceful._

_

* * *

  
_

The car ride was silent and uneventful except for a few directions. Purposefully he missed four turns so that he could delay their arrival. Sometimes he would take a few too many sharp turns and she would be squished up against him. _Accidentally, to be sure._ Ani contemplated the paradox of Stephen's aloof demeanor and the smoldering intentions he shot her way. Arriving at her cottage he escorted her to the door.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

"The pleasure was all mine." He raised her hand to his mouth but instead of kissing the back of her hand, he kissed the pulse of her wrist, his lips lingered firm and moist against her softness.

Damn. If her wrist was tingling from a singular touch she could only imagine what his lips would feel like pressed against… other parts of her body. Stop this daydreaming and look for your house keys. Lowering her eyelashes she glittered with unhidden desire.

_To hell with being a gentleman_. He crushed her yielding frame to his own. The frantic pounding in his chest mirrored hers. Their imploring mouths pressed ravenously together as they feasted upon on one another. Hours of small intimacies and stolen glimpses cumulating in a mercurial lust that spread like a contagion. _I want you. _Here was a man who was starved for affection, companionship and… desire. Jealously he drank in every wanton moan elicited from her; he wanted to carve every nuance into memory. _She tasted of strawberries and chocolate and need._

Stephen knew that he was driving her crazy which in turn was driving him crazier. Velveted darkness, the feel of flesh beneath the sheets painted an alluring mental , Ani sucked the bottom of his lip, pulling none too gently as he groaned. Pushed against the door, she did not care, the throbbing of her ankle paled in comparison to the fiery throbbing below. Her emboldened hands trembled as they wandered through his hair, reveling in its coal smoothness. _Must remember to keep breathing. _

Their tongues mated in an intricate and sensual tango for several eternities (see thirty-six minutes give or take a kiss). His touch left every inch of skin humming for something more. Nuzzling her throat, Stephen bit down hard liking the sweet whimpers that escaped from her. _That was going to leave marks. No matter he was feeling territorial tonight. _His possessive hold never loosened. Expert fingers brushed along the sensitive arch of her graceful shoulders until they smoothed against her jaw to the untamed cascade of hair he freed from their ribbon restraint. _You're so beautiful._

They both found it hard to murmur endearments beyond one syllable exclamations. Not surprising that the exquisite licking, nibbling and sucking was not conducive to civil conservation. It was getting harder (literally) to concentrate let alone stop. _For God's sake you're twenty-five not a randy boy of fifteen. _His thigh spread her robe open, nestled between her clenching legs that kept him captive against her. Her sweet tormentor was not one to play fair. One of them would pull away and the other person would clutch at them desperately. Neither of them wanted to break the twining fusion of their bodies.

Amazingly, both of them still had their clothing on, the thin material of modesty acting as a barrier between snogging and utter insanity. Ani's hands roamed brazenly, sliding down his chest and gripping his shirt as she pushed him against the wall. _You are mine… if only for tonight…_ Impatiently she ripped the buttons from his shirt, her nimble fingers igniting a blaze of desire down to the belt of his pants. _Dangerous territory._ Stephen caught her hands and pulled away sharply, his nose rested against her cool cheek.

"Good night Ms. Jamieson." The whisper breathless to her sensibilities.

He did not wisto stop but the black skull and serpent mark on his forearm made an insistent reappearance in spite of the concealment charm. It would be suicide to explain to the Dark Lord that he was late because of a liaison with a muggle. _He needed to pull himself together before they ended up against the wall, in the porch swing or on the floor of her front steps…_

So many things were left unsaid, so many hungers - unsatisfied. God help him if he did not plunge in the coldest bottomless ocean. It took a tremendous amount of will power to tear away from this seductive creature. _Next time you will not escape so easily. _

"Oh I forgot to give you back your robe. Pleasant dreams Mr. Alexander." Ani blithely slipped off the robe and tossed it over his head.

He got an eyeful of her naked body - all curves and exquisite lines before she blew him a kiss and slammed the door shut. The arrogant look he flashed her just seconds before, promised future retribution. She was frustrated. Her wand was temptingly close by. The thought of magically accioing him to her bed crossed her mind, but she wouldn't want to cause an international incident with the Ministry of Magic. _Oh yes. It promised to be an interesting summer._


	2. Serpentine Aspirations

**Serpentine Aspirations:**

_My name is Hexandra Storm and I am the daughter of a Death Eater. I do not know the identity of my father but when I find him, I am going to kill him…_

Six years ago she penned this vow in blood, drowning in the abyss of her hatred and pain. Every crimson darkened line was scored into memory, every word on that page still haunted her, unfulfilled and mocking. _Father of mine, you stole everything from me. But I promise you will pay…_

"Incendio!" Hexandra watched the parchment smolder as she crushed her cheek against the ivory gravestone of Daniqa Storm. Her fingertips traced along the epitaph while the unrelenting rain drenched her robes to numbed skin. Huddled by the cold marble, she imagined her mother's embrace and the smile she knew only in photographs. An unearthly lullaby blanketed her until she was oblivious to the biting wind and purpled lightning struck night.

* * *

"There is darkness within you, I see. Secrets… yes many secrets. Be forewarned that your desire for vengeance does not lead you down the shadow path…" The ancient Sorting Hat hissed silkily, "Rise daughter of Slytherin!" 

Hex scoffed at the fortune cookie musings of a ratty old hat as she strode warily towards the Slytherin table, her school robes billowing behind her ominously. The vast ceiling of the Great Hall was enchanted with shooting stars and a moon laced in gossamer clouds. Having schooled her apprehension into an arrogant demeanor worthy of her new house, she imperiously seated herself at the seventh year table. _No weakness must be shown lest the wolves give chase. _Pretending not to notice a particular redhead's quizzical glances from across the room; she poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice, steeling herself for the impending confrontation.

"You're not a mudblood are you?" A pug-nosed girl sneered at her, eyeing Hex's magenta and ebony tipped dreadlocks and smudged gothic makeup with distaste. _So it begins, the first strike is always for the jugular._

"Hardly." She retorted in a bored tone, perfected after her fourth year spent at the AuzenbergAcademy in Austria. The viperous comments, the backstabbing, the insanely inflated egos; it was nothing new. Different schools, same social intrigue. Fifth year at Beauxbatons was filled with sycophantic gossips and aristocratic fashionistas. Hex was immune to clique politics but she could readily manipulate them and their puppets to her own advantage.

Time was her enemy. Hex could not afford to fade into the obscurity as her situation was dire. She was nowhere close to concluding her blood vendetta. Entering Death Eater society was the next logical step to uncover the riddle of her heritage. The answers resided with a single person. _The question was which one. _She had to be bold and ruthless. No longer would she silence her daggered tongue nor would she conform to popularity's rigid dictates. Every statement and action was calculated to cause controversy. To Hades with her detractors.

Like countless disenfranchised youth before her, Hex discovered that she could hide her true intentions under the guise of angst driven rebellion. The more outrageous her persona, the more she could distract people from her questionable behaviors. Earlier that morning, she had aggressively smeared on jet black lipstick and sparkling midnight nail polish. Egyptian kohl and shimmering gray eyeshadow highlighted the ferocity of forest hued eyes. A swirling purple and black mood stone hung from a tattered ribbon, tethered to her porcelain throat. Her pert nose was punctured with a titanium ring where an intricate matching chain connected her nose ring to her multitude of earrings. _The stage is set, the players ready, one must assume a mask to act the role. _

"What kind of pureblood name is Storm?" The icy blond boy across from her drawled lazily. The leer in his manner caused her skin to writhe in revulsion. _Ah the alpha male of the pack. _He was obvious to spot, brimming with a self importance that exists in a noble wizarding class too inbred to retrieve the silver wands from their asses. The others appeared to defer to him, even his robes oozed of money and privilege.

"It is my family name. I descend from generations of Storms. Last year I attended Durmstrang. Do you actually believe they would allow a filthy muggleborn in?" The fury of her jaded glare challenged the glacially grey of calm of his. Praying that her bluff would work, Hex had not foreseen that a tapestry of her family tree would be needed to satisfy the snobbiness of her peers. Apparently her haughty words were sufficient enough to impress them because they left her alone during Headmaster Dumbledore's welcome speech.

The pureblooded prejudices of Slytherin were infamous. Pedigree and wealth ruled the hierarchies of this house known for the subtleties and treachery of its elite. Within her first hour of observing their encounters she could distinguish contradictions between the civil words spoken and the body language or manner in which they were relayed. Reading people came easily to her, this gift made manipulation natural. _Serpents are after all opportunistically cannibalistic. _

"Where are you from that you attire yourself so freakishly?" The same malicious girl queried. _Nicely done you've managed to ask for information, insult me and possibly lower my standing amongst the group._ Hex applauded the girl's viciousness; she would make an admirable adversary.

"If you must know, I originate from Toronto, Canada. Unlike _some_, I do not care to make myself a slave to fashion. That is for the proletariat sheep." Hexandra's velvety disdain caused the other girl to flush with indignation. _I wonder if she even knows the meaning of proletariat. _

"You have spirit Hexandra Storm. I'm Blaise Zabini." Blaise took her hand and pressed it to his lips, remaining longer than what was proper. "This is Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Millicent Bulstrode, and Draco Malfoy." Dismissively Blaise gestured towards the group assembled around him. Hex memorized their names and noted a few others sitting at the tables next to theirs.

"Enchanted, I'm sure." Hex feigned indifference to the enigmatic and devastatingly gorgeous Zabini. Finely molded features, mocha skin and perfectly spiked black hair, he was everything desirable in a guy. It was a pity that romantic entanglements were only a means to an ends. No seductive smile or amber honeyed eyes could sway her. _Who was she kidding? Take a cold shower already and remember to inhale then exale. Pay attention, potential death eater here._ Mentally she scolded her hormones. He was dangerous to her mission but she found herself not caring.

She felt the twinge of legilimency threatening to breach her thoughts. _How interesting. _Arrogantly he conveyed his message: _I love a challenge. _The barriers of her occlumency slammed into place as she sent a response: _So do I_. The heat of their mutual exchange went unnoticed. Hexandra forced him out of her head with great difficulty. He won the first battle with his audacity but she pledged that in this war she would ultimately triumph…

Crabbe and Goyle hardly stopped shoveling food into their gaping maws to make conversation beyond neanderthaloid grunts. They hovered around Malfoy like surly mountainous bodyguards. Bulstrode was too busy intimidating the boy next to her into surrendering the last sweet bun to even acknowledge her presence. _Now there is a girl I would not want to arm wrestle. _Pansy Parkinson scowled at Hex while peeling Draco the occasional grape. Whenever Parkinson deigned to look her way, Hex charmed a potato into a miniature sheep to make baaing sounds much to the amusement of the others. Daphne Greengrass seemed shy and overwhelmed by those around her, she mumbled hello and resumed eating her lemon torte. For the rest of the feast Hex eavesdropped on conversations. Several of the discussions involved plots concerning two boys named Pottie and Weasel King.

Something fuzzy tickled her feet. Looking beneath the table, Hexandra discovered a pygmy puff nuzzling her. Discreetly she picked up the adorable creature and removed the note attached to a collar that read 'Arnold'. It read: _Meet me at 8:00pm in the mirror room on the 4th floor. G. _Scribbling a hasty agreement, she released the chittering messenger who scampered away.

* * *

He was late. Sighing, Hex folded her arms against her chest in annoyance as she leaned back against a mirror. No sooner had she rested her weight on the surface did it swing inwards. She landed with an unceremonious plop onto a bean bag chair as the hidden door closed shut. Looming above her, George Weasley grinned one of his trademarked impish grins. 

"Nice of you to drop in." He deadpanned as he helped her to her feet.

"Hysterical. George. Hysterical." She huffed pushing a dred out of her face.

"How absolutely brilliant to see you Hex. Although you look so different from the last picture you sent that I almost didn't recognize you." George spun her around with boyish joviality.

He remembered that her hair changed hues like a rainbow. Her real hair color was a mystery. The shocking makeup concealed her girl next door prettiness but he still found her alluring in an unconventional manner. Her tie was embroidered with spiders and carelessly knotted over a white polo shirt. A baggy crocheted sweater was wrapped around voluptuous hips on top of a green and black plaid skirt. His eyes widened at the fishnet stockings and the pair of chunky heeled lace up knee boots. The school uniform never looked sassier.

"Great to finally meet you in person George. Yeah a lot has changed. You could say I'm trying out a new look." She beamed lightheartedly, the first genuine smile she felt since she arrived at Hogwarts. "I didn't think you'd be in school. I thought you and Fred had decided that your education was done with." Hex struggled to catch her breath as the exuberant spinning and squeezing made her dizzy. She fell back onto the squashy bean bag. George was a lot taller than she expected as she was nearly 5'10" and still had to look up to meet his eyes.

"Well I thought it would be beneficial to finish school. Had to drag Fred along he would die of loneliness without me. Lee and Angelina are managing the store while we're gone. Plus there would be plenty of first years to cough product test on. Also I would get to see you." He snuck in the last statement nonchalantly while handing her a gift wrapped box.

"Really you shouldn't have. It's not going to explode is it?" His comment flattered her more than by the present but she could not resist the last dig. Hex gave him an impetuous hug.

"Woman, I'm hurt. It's our seven year pen pal anniversary and you think I would be so immature." The pretend devastation in his face was so appealing she could not help but laugh at him. He was even funnier in person than on paper.

"Hmm I wonder why I would think that. Could it be because my last present did actually explode?" Snickering she remembered opening up her birthday card and having it blow up in her face literally. Packages from George were always a fun albeit hazardous adventure.

"Minor technical difficulty, it was supposed to give a tiny fire cracker performance before singing happy birthday. Didn't think that you would open it up when you were in a library." The sparkle in his cerulean gaze held no remorse.

"They cut up my library card after that incident. But it was worth it." She fingered her mood stone necklace shyly. "Next time if I get a gift that ticks I may have to call the bomb squad."

Secretly he was thrilled that she was wearing the necklace he gave her but he neglected to comment on this fact any further. He was hoping for another hug and was disappointed when she did not comply.

"Well open it, the suspense is killing me." Eagerly he nodded at the present in her hands. Patience was not a Weasley virtue. Her deliberate hesitation made him chuckle. Inside was a box of honey dukes chocolates, a bag of Bertie Botts Jelly Beans and six bottles of butterbeer.

"Thanks. I remember Dana swearing off these jelly beans. I don't think I've ever seen her turn that shade of green before, after sampling a few of them." Hex's delighted smile made George melt into a pool of marshmallows.

"Come on. Are you going to share with your nearest and dearest quill pal Storm?" Blinking his long eyelashes at her with false pleading, he plopped down on the bean bag beside her. Conveniently the chair inched closer to hers than it used to be.

"Definitely, when I see Fred I'll be sure to give him some." As she giggled at George's outraged expression, she popped a chocolate into her mouth before he could sputter out a retort.

"Scarlet woman. Having a torrid letter affair with my twin behind my back? Next year it's canary creams and dungbombs for you." Pantomiming a knife stabbed into his heart, George snagged a raspberry jellybean while she was distracted by his antics.

"Alright then, Weasley open wide." Grudgingly she was willing to part with some candy because his begging was pathetically amusing. His mouth was gaping froglike as she tossed a caramel at him.

"Ten points." He raised his arms in victory. "So how did you end up in Slytherin? Sold your soul, had someone killed, or tortured a cute little bunny? You struck me as a Ravenclaw." He mocked. His poorly hidden chagrin was ridiculously easy to read.

"I didn't sell my soul. I'm just renting it out and just so you know I only torture cute little redheads." She teased mercilessly. _Murder may come later._ The dark possibility encroached upon her cheerful thoughts.

"Be careful Hexie. Slytherin is filled with dark wizards. I don't want to see you get hurt…" His concern was evident in his seriously soft tone.

"Don't worry Georgie. I'm a big girl. They should be careful of me." Her bravado was forced. Unconsciously she placed her head upon his shoulder in her anxiety. The warmth was comforting as she contemplated her situation. One wrong move and she could end up like her mother. There was no room for mistakes in this game. She cracked open two butterbeer bottles and handed one to George.

"Last summer when you were asking so many questions about Death Eaters, you weren't thinking of joining up? Were you?" George said jokingly but carefully gauged his friend's reaction. Omission was revealing as truth. He did not want her to move her head from his shoulder so he held himself very still.

"No. Of course not." Abruptly she moved away from him. _Not unless I have to. _Lately the lies fell smoothly from her tongue; she knew exactly why the Sorting Hat chose her for the serpent's house. It was disconcerting how close to the truth George came. She did not wish to deceive him but it was inevitable. The less he knew the better. There were things she realized that she could never explain. There were things that she dared not confide in him.

"You do know we have to be bitter enemies being that I'm a Gryffindor."

"This house rivalry is so foolish. It's not like I give a damn about that." It pained her to admit that she would have to be careful about being seen with George.

"You always were a rebel. To enemies." He raised his bottle clinking it with hers.

* * *

It was past midnight when they snuck back to their dormitories. George accompanied her to the dungeons, taking her through a series of shortcuts that she committed to memory. They walked in tense silence except for their footsteps and the occasional snore from a hallway portrait. He was close enough to inhale in her cinnamon scent. His proximity made her nervous. She quickened her steps until they stood in front of the Slytherin entranceway. The awkwardness was only offset by an air of expectancy. 

"George thanks for everything. You are such a great friend." She blurted out in hopes that the 'you're my friend' comment would disabuse him of sentimental notions between the two of them. Letter flirtation was one thing. Face to face, the words and actions emphasized the connection between them. Instinctively, Hex knew that his interest went beyond affection. She was conflicted about her own feelings; they were not strictly platonic. The thought of pursuing a relationship was simultaneously disturbing and fascinating.

With one hand leaned against the door, he towered over her. His presence was consuming. His sky blue gaze was penetrating in the absence of light. Only inches separated them from a kiss. Stereotypically his palms were clammy and his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. A question divided them like continents. He wanted to take that next step, to cross that final line but he was restrained by uncertainty. _Damn. Gryffindor courage was failing him. _

"Hex, I…" His entreating huskiness was interrupted by the sound of nearing footsteps.

"Go. Please." Hex pleaded softly, pushing him away with finality. _Goodbye George. It was better that he not get involved with her plans._

He left quietly and did not look back. His retreating figure suffocated her with regret and longing. She closed her eyes, head resting against the portrait trying to erase the look of rejection upon George's face from her conscience.

"Naughty. Miss Storm. Caught outside your bed past curfew." A seductive voice breathed delicately into her ear with a knowing emphasis on the words naughty and bed.

_Please let it not be who I think it is. _Hex thought to herself. Her eyes opened into his unblinkingly golden ones. _Typical Morgana's Law it was Zabini._

"I forgot the password." The lame excuse sounded false even to her ears.

"Serpentine Aspirations." He hissed as the door slid open. With a gesture reminiscent of a royal courtier he took her hand possessively and pulled her into the eerily green lit common room. _Into the serpent's pit I fall._

* * *


	3. Chemically Induced Disasters

**Chemically Induced Disasters**

He existed in a universe of brooding and jealousy. The gravity of longing weighed heavily upon him. If George could numb himself from feeling for her, he would. If he could purge her from his thoughts maybe this ache of self implosion would lessen. To be near Hex and not be with her decimated him. Losing her was unbearable but he did not know if she was his to lose. Did their correspondence mean anything to her? Was he fooling himself? A leviathan of doubt circled and threatened to devour him completely.

With seven hundred and fifty-three letters (exactly 753 parchments since he ripped up each one by hand and chucked them in a box) and an ocean between them, he thought they were close friends maybe more than 'just friends'. Now that she was within arm's reach, they were planets apart. Their eyes never met. She would look at him from across the great hall. He would watch her in the corridors. These glances were furtive and fleeting. They could pass by each other in class as if they were strangers, without exchanging words just seconds away from confrontation. No sign of recognition, warmth or even acknowledgement. It was difficult to see her but it was impossible to turn away…

Gunpowder, eucalyptus and cinnamon pervaded the air. It was maddening and strangely enough intoxicating. He scribbled incessantly in a tattered notebook while casting the occasional glare at the two oblivious Slytherins sitting in front of him. Zabini and Storm were the usual targets of his focused ire. Blaise situated himself too closely to Hex for George's liking. The fact that she permitted the dark haired boy such liberties made George's fists clench and his normally twinkling blue eyes blaze an unholy green. Her wicked laughter at the wretched git's comments cruelly skewered through his gut.

The surrounding thrum of students thwarted George's eavesdropping. _Those extendable ears would come in handy right about now._ Every time Blaise touched her, he snapped a quill. This was George's fourth quill today. After his twin tried to cheer George up by reanimating a pickled toad to limbo across his worktable, George promptly moved to another table to be left in solitude. When Ron took a chair beside him, George scarcely grunted a greeting.

* * *

The typical stench of dank dungeon and burnt cauldrons was missing from class today. Hex's sensitive nostrils detected the luscious scent of chocolate, spearmint and expensive cologne. Steam spiraled in vague heart shaped wisps from a cauldron near the front of the potions lab. The mother of pearl sheen was a dead giveaway. It could only be Amortentia. Although Hex enjoyed the challenge of brewing complex concoctions the idea of making a love potion made her nauseous. _Slughorn was probably inhaling too many fumes again if he thought making Amortentia would be an appropriate assignment._

"Today class we will be brewing Amortentia, an extremely powerful and some say dangerous love potion. Instructions are found on page 328 of your text. Please wear the dragonhide gloves provided. Be careful not to allow the potion to come in contact with your skin because undiluted Amortentia can be an unpredictable aphrodisiac. Place the remaining solids from the distilling process into the glass jars on the work benches as many perfumeries will pay top galleon for the residuals." Professor Horace Slughorn winked as some of the girls in class began to giggle.

The expressions of uneasiness on a few of the boys' faces were laughable. Blaise's lips curled suggestively. Hexandra studied the blackboard for the list of required ingredients: pomegranate pith, lily buds, strawberry juice, siren's hair, freshly ground coriander, heart's blood of a dove, peony roots, red rose petals, quince seeds, jasmine oil, crushed pearls, orchid pollen, minced ginseng, passion fruit skin, essence of mistletoe, ambrosia liqueur, and a heart shaped rose quartz.

"Professor our quartz appears to be cracked." Terry Boot complained as he sorted through his ingredients and equipment. _Not as cracked as Slughorn for coming up with this as a potions lab. _

"So it is Mr. Boot. No worries I will search the store room for a spare crystal. Continue on with the assignment ladies and gentlemen. I won't be long." Slughorn left the room briskly.

"You prepare the flowers and I'll take care of the fruit." Selecting a knife, Hex proceeded to slice through a pomegranate.

"What do you mean? Nott doesn't take potions." Blaise teased as he rested his elbows against the table and slithered closer to her. His cologne seemed all too familiar… seductive and very masculine.

"Ha ha. Now get to work Zabini." Playfully Hex shoved him away. Her fingers were sticky and stained magenta from the pomegranate juice. She fought the urge to flick the seeds at him.

"So forceful… I like it." Blaise plucked a lily from the vase and twirled it lightly against her cheek causing Hex to jerk back suddenly as if the flower scorched her. The low timbre of his voice thrilled her. Zabini could read off the back of a cereal box and make it sound provocative. George banged his pestle rather loudly into the stone mortar.

"Hand me those three quinces, please." Smiling sweetly she pulverized a phallic shaped piece of ginseng root with a mallet.

Zabini winced and obeyed quickly. Apparently Miss Storm was not in the mood for flirtation but that did not deter his persistent Italian disposition. The little hellion was playing hard to get but he could sense her resolve weakening. He would embolden his strategies. It was only a matter of time before she would be eating sugar mice out of his had. He would enjoy stripping that haughtiness from her… among other things.

"Maybe I need an incentive. Promise me a walk around the astronomy tower… tonight… Xandra." Blaise put a rose to his kissable lips and bit softly on a petal, ripping it from the stem. He opened his mouth and twirled it on his tongue before swallowing it. The glint of a hematite stud piercing his tongue caught Hex's eye. _Mr. Zabini was full of surprises. _Behind her, George made a disgusted sound that sounded suspiciously like gagging.

"Is the word no even in your vocabulary?" She inquired aloofly.

His libertine arrogance amused her. For the past week he had been asking her out to the tower, but she had yet to agree. She did not trust him. He did not give her any reason to do so. Mostly she did not trust herself. Blaise Zabini's picture was in the dictionary beside the word temptation. Veela blood must run through his veins because her resistance was faltering.

"It's not a word I hear often." His tone made it a statement of fact rather than a boast. Blaise's conquests were legendary. He could put Casanova and Don Juan to shame. The unsavory gossip annoyed and impressed Hex. But if he wished to play with fire she would give him the match.

"What's so special about the astronomy tower?" His grin seemed almost predatory after her innocent query. _As if you don't know bella._

"There's a beautiful view." The look he gave her was far from innocent. _Beautiful view my arse._George snorted to himself. Hex thought about giving George a dirty look but that would require turning around.

"I'll … think about it." Hex hesitated at his enticing offer. Undoubtedly very little stargazing occurred in the tower. To be alone, in a cozy turret illuminated by a starlit sky with him the possibility made her swallow harshly. The little devil controlling her conscience was choking the little angel into submission.

* * *

"George those quinces needed to be deseeded not juiced." Ron Weasley hissed at his brother who had squeezed the fruit rather violently. 

"Oh. Sorry about that." George growled as he watched Hex fuss over Zabini's thorn scratched hand. He shredded a rose mercilessly. _Ruddy bastard probably injured himself on purpose._ Four pomegranate seeds were spat at his head before he turned to the left and confronted Fred. "Bugger off!"

"Oi! Is that any way to treat your more attractive half?" Fred poked at his twin. "We just wanted to borrow some jasmine oil. Seamus spilled ours." Fred grabbed the beaker rudely thrust at him.

"What's got your skivvies in a twist?" Ron asked bluntly.

"Nothing." Stonily George lied. Nothing was the adolescent answer to everything when words could not express the actual reasons. The peony roots were sliced so severely that the blade went through the table's wooden surface. Storm's robes brushed against him as she and Zabini headed towards the equipment cupboard at the back of the lab.

"It's not what. It's who. Does her name begin with an H and end in an exandra?" Fred leaned deliberately on George's last nerve. George hushed his brother in case she should overhear them. _Sometimes twin intuition was annoying. _George's silence damned him.

"Women!" Huffed Ron. As Terry loomed over Hermione's shoulder to read the instructions, Ron's face flushed a telltale red in annoyance.

"I hear that Granger hasn't talked to you since breakfast. You really have to learn to keep that not so smart trap of yours shut sometimes." Fred chastised Ron who was still shooting murderous glares at the unknowing Terry._ Terry 'Wanker' Boot._

"But I didn't do an-nything." Ron stammered in defense of his morning faux pas. Truthfully he had no clue as to why Hermione poured pumpkin juice over his head at breakfast. The girl was always mad at him for some reason or another. _At least it was not canaries this time. Those little buggers had sharp beaks._

"Don't be thick. Informing Granger that her new hair style resembled a drenched mop was not very wise or gentlemanly." Fred mocked. "Be thankful that she was not drinking hot coffee this morning." The picture of a sopping wet and partially scalded Ron caused Fred to grin uncontrollably.

"Aye. Telling a bird that her skirt be too short and that she should go back and change. That be daft mate. There be no such thing as too short a skirt." Seamus flinched as Ron elbowed him roughly.

Not that he would admit it to anyone but Ron preferred Hermione's curly mass of hair. Her new sleekly tamed locks with reddish highlights were attracting far too much attention. Not to mention the scandalously indecent skirt. He planned to have a talk with Ginny about that. Ginny was always tearing the mickey out of Hermione about her lack of fashion sense. There was nothing wrong with the way Hermione dressed. At least she did not have lecherous blokes staring at her. Nor did she need an army of boyfriends like Ginny did.

Ron especially did not want Terry Boot that sodding Ravenclaw Head Boy and quidditch chaser chasing after Mione. So what if Boot was intelligent, rich, blond haired and blue eyed. _He was still a pounce. The other _punters were not supposed to look at Hermione like that. She was his best friend. She was his Mione. _Wait did I just think of her as my Mione. _Ron nearly dropped the flask of ambrosia in shocking revelation.

"For Merlin's sakes just apologize to the girl already." George cleaved a passion fruit into two pieces wishing that it was Zabini's head. And not the one above his neck either.

"I'm not sure what to say" Squeaked Ron. His skin whitened paler than usual. At times the thought of approaching the very angry and sometimes vengeful witch frightened him more than even spiders did.

"How about writing her a note?" Seamus suggested practically.

"Good idea. Now what should I write?" Looking relieved, Ron pulled out a piece of parchment and scrambled for a quill. "Why are all the quills broken?" Guiltily George shuffled the snapped remnants of his fury under the table.

"How about: So sorry for my stupid yap. The skirt does not make you look like a slag. I'm a giant prat. Hopelessly devoted to you, Ronald Weasley." Fred received a gesture from Ron and it was not the sign for victory.

"It's an apology Fred, not an invitation for a slap in the face. Try this: Forgive me. I never meant to hurt you. Yours, Ron." The heartfelt sincerity in George's voice concerned Fred.

This Hexandra Storm was turning George inside out. For the past week George was moody, scowling and prone to destruction of property particularly Fred's. Fred vowed to help his brother with the situation. Seven years of mooning over a girl was enough. It was almost as pathetic as Ron deluding himself about his feelings for Hermione. To endure another seventy years of it would drive Fred to St. Mungo's in a strait robe.

George's sentiments were copied out word for word in Ron's untidy scrawl. Diligently Ron tried to prevent the ink from smearing the paper but a few blots still managed to escape from his spellotaped quill. The boy was about to crumple the paper and toss it towards Hermione's table but Fred stopped him.

"Not like that. Float it to her with a rose." Sighing, Fred looked heavenwards in supplication for his romantically moronic sibling.

Ron wrapped his note around the stem of a rose and enchanted it with a quick Wingardium Leviosa spell. The note floated in Hermione's direction but went over the Head Girl's head. Instead it drifted above Lavendar Brown and fell into her lap. _Bollocks._ Bewitchingly Lavendar smiled as she read it and winked at Ron who was hiding his face behind his hand. Dean Thomas frowned nastily at Ron. The letter's intended recipient sent him a seething look. The steam rising from Hermione seemed almost hot enough to curl her straightened hair. The three boys standing around the red faced Weasley laughed heartily.

"That was jolly well done of you Won Won." George chuckled at the mortified Ron.

"Get stuffed George." Ron muttered. Even Harry appeared amused and gave Ron a sarcastic thumb's up from the other table.

"Now that Dr. Fred has cured an acute case of denial and idiocy on behalf of Mr. Ronald Weasley, I shall continue onto to my next patient Mr. George Weasley." Fred imitated Percy's pompous demeanor as he pointed a yet to be damaged quill.

"Sod off Fred." George mumbled as he dropped the heart shaped quartz into the lightly boiling cauldron.

"Enough already. Stop being such a bairn and ask her out." Seamus stirred and added the pollen into his and Fred's mixture. _Virgin Mary save me from these_ _repressed Englishmen. Ye fancy a woman, ye tell her so. It was not rocket science mates._

"Maybe talk about your feelings and stuff. Girls are always whinging about that." Ron piped in oblivious to the disbelieving stares he received in response. Fred coughed. _Have you been sneaking peeks at Ginny's Witch Weekly magazines?_

"Thank you Mr. I Have the Emotional Range of a Teaspoon. But she won't even look at me much less talk to me. I think she's interested in Zabini. And he's definitely trying to get into her robes." His bitter admission surprised even himself. George shoved punch twitchy fists into his pockets.

"Listen up Shakespeare Weasley if you don't have the cobblers to talk to her maybe you should write her a letter like Ronniekins here." Fred drawled. _Merlin knows you have had enough practice._

"I don't know if I can say what I feel." George confessed angrily. Her rejection left a fist sized void in his chest that threatened to collapse every time he thought about her and Zabini together.

"Use that Weasley charm of ours. How do you think dad survived mum?" Fred's encouragement was lost on George.

"Want her to end up with that arse Zabini?" Seamus challenged and tilted his head towards Blaise who was lapping up the attentions of Hex's tender care.

"Right. So what if he's sophisticated, wealthy, smart and good looking. You're loads better than him." Ron's backhanded assessment depressed George. Fred smacked Ron upside his head for his stupid attempt to compliment their brother. _Apparently the Weasley charm skipped over Ron._

_"_A little romance is in order. Flowers, syrupy poetry and candy the non skiving kind mind you. Maybe a little moonlit broomstick _ride_ across the lake. Eh Georgie?" Fred waggled his eyebrows as Ron and Seamus acted out a George and Hex scene.

"Oh Hex I can not live without you. Come away with me." Seamus pretended to be George and took Ron's hand with an exaggerated flourish.

"Yes George darling I love you more than breath." Ron's falsetto caused his voice to crack and the other boys to sputter with laughter.

"My loins burn for you." _Burning loins indeed there is an ointment for that._

"But we must not without the sanctity of a wedded union." Fred chimed in behind Ron who held the back of his hand to his forehead.

"I don't care, I want you and I must have you." Seamus got down on one knee.

"Then take me you big strong stud!" Ron swooned.

"Get a broom closet you poofs! She's not the type to go for that sort of thing." George rolled his eyes as Ron tried to jump in Seamus' arms and ended up knocking the Irishman and their stools over.

"Afraid she might slap ye?" Seamus asked as he supervised the distillation of the Amortentia into the glass dish.

"Slap me. Hell she might give me a swift kick to the stones." George muttered as the other boys cringed in sympathy. That would hurt less than the throbbing pain he felt whenever he thought about their last time together.

"Don't worry George me boy, your devious twin has a plan." Cheekily Fred gave George a wink and turned back to his potions assignment.

"What…" George was interrupted as Professor Slughorn returned to the dungeon.

* * *

"Here we are Miss Granger, Mr. Boot. Luckily Sybil I mean my esteemed colleague Professor Trelawney was in possession of a spare crystal. Excellent progress I must say to everyone. Keep it up while I mark a few papers." Handing the quartz to Terry, Slughorn waddled over to his desk where a stack of papers and a dish of crystallized pineapple awaited his attention. 

"We make a great team Hermione." Terry smiled as he pushed a golden lock away from his forehead.

"It's nice to finally have a partner who really knows their way around a cauldron." Hermione commented loudly as Ron walked by their table on his way to the potions cupboard. Visibly Ron stiffened and avoided looking at her.

"I was thinking… would you like to accompany me to Hogsmeade this Saturday?" He asked shyly, his eyes never leaving the bubbling infusion.

"I'd be delighted." Hermione agreed quickly. Ron nearly tripped over a school satchel on the floor. His dark mutters were indecipherable as he stormed back to Seamus. Terry's endearingly crooked smile widened as he set up the distilling pan.

The girl looked over Terry's shoulder and witnessed Harry's disappointed expression. Hermione refused to feel guilty. It was not as if she had promised that she would go with Ginny, Harry and that ginger haired idiot every single Hogsmeade weekend. Ronald Weasley an insensitive, immature and infuriating toerag. How dare he write Lavendar Brown a love note? How dare he insult her hair and outfit? _After all the trouble I went through to look nice for him today_. _Wait did I just think that it was for him. No way in Hades was that true. _Ruthlessly she shoved those traitorous thoughts aside and focused on how angry he made her. Her only regret this morning was that she did not dump a bowl of porridge over his head to go along with that pumpkin juice.

* * *

"He broke my little bottle of Love Potion Number Nine. Love Potion Number Nine. Love Potion Number Nine. Love Potion Number Nine." Sang Peeves in an off key voice as he strummed a guitar. 

"Peeves. Leave my classroom at once." The outraged Professor Slughorn demanded.

"Not yet Sluggie. I feel like singing a little ditty or two." Peeves sniggered. He drifted through the classroom serenading the students who clamped their hands over their ears.

"Out! We do not wish to be subjected to your awful caterwauling." Slughorn's face turned beet red as Peeves knocked over the professor's essay papers.

"Everyone is a critic these days." Peeves cried melodramatically. The beakers of Amortentia were almost ready to be marked and would have been if not for the vindictive feelings of the trouble making poltergeist. He levitated the samples of love potion just out of their owners' reach.

"Peeves you rotten little gobshiite. Give me back my potion." Dean Thomas swore as he tried to snatch the dancing beaker from the air. Peeves cackled maniacally.

"Language Mr. Thomas. Five points from Gryffindor." The professor snapped as he scrambled to gather all the essays together.

"Give it back you say? Alright then." The malicious ghost allowed the glass containers to smash on the tables. At the same time he upturned all the cauldrons spilling the liquid everywhere. All the students were drenched in Amortentia except for Professor Slughorn who watched the scene in sheer horror.

"Bloody hell!" The three Weasleys exclaimed.

"Peevesy has left the building." Peeves announced as he disappeared into the ether leaving the room filled with chaos and cursing students.

"No one panic. You will have to remove your clothes. Not now Mr. Malfoy while in the classroom. Everyone to the infirmary follow me quickly. No touching! Boys form a line on the right. Girls form a line on the left. Maintain a distance of three feet between the lines. I explicitly said three feet Miss Brown." Slughorn barked like a general as he frog marched students towards the door. In his haste to hustle the students out of the dungeons, he clumsily slipped on a pestle and fell into a rather large puddle of Amortentia.

"Are you alright Professor?" Daphne Greengrass asked quietly.

"I'm fine. Excuse me I believe I need to go to see Sybil I mean Professor Trelawney about a prophecy. Continue on to Madam Pomfrey students and no detours." His eyes glazed over as he grabbed a bouquet of peonies and made a comical dash to the divination tower his rotund belly jiggling in the exertion.

"Where's that Lockhart when you need him?" Groaned Ron as the idea of Trelawney and Slughorn together gave him the collywobbles. A quick obliviate would clear his mind of that horror._ Scratch that maybe I need two obliviates._

* * *


End file.
